For a time, writing took the back seat. Or, more accurately, if life were a train, with cars numbering far more than my attention span can count, writing was the final car. Each car, labeled carefully, “Family”, “Charlie”, “Chanelle”, “Meadow”, “Chad”, “Home”, “Business”, “Photography”, “48 Hours Mystery”. . . well, you get the point. ....
I’m a terrible small talker. Like, really, really terrible. If I walk into a situation where a small group of people might be standing and chatting, my palms become sweaty and my heart begins to beat like it used to after I finished my leg of the 4×800 relay. (And my relay team was really...
When I flash to memories of my Mom she is, most often, in one of two places. In a large portion of my memories, my Mom is sitting on a stool at our counter. She might have a newspaper in front of her, turned to the page with the crossword–the main reason we actually subscribed to...
I had the following conversation with Chad a few weeks ago before taking Chanelle to her very first orthodontist appointment. (Note: some of the names and locations in the story have been changed to protect the innocent.) Chad: What time is Chanelle’s appointment tomorrow? Me: Noon. Chad: Okay. Me: Yeah, I remember talking to Fred and Wilma last...
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Keep writing! I enjoy reading your work!
I appreciate that very much, Amy! Thank you!
That sleep car gets me, too, Jessica. 🙂
Thank you for your kind words. YES. . . it all goes so fast, doesn’t it? I like how you worded it, “between two blinks”. Yes, yes, yes. . .